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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26909602">The Vanishing of Marianne</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Whumptober 2020 [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Buried Alive, F/M, Hurt No Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Mentions of Suicide, Whumptober 2020, inspired by The Vanishing, modern AU but uh i'm not using that tag, no editing i'm tired, non voluntary transformations, read the notes at beginning for trigger warnings please</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 00:07:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,562</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26909602</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>(For Whumptober Day 4: Buried Alive)</p><p>Marianne goes missing one after an outing at a nearby gas station. It's been years now and Dimitri has found no trace of her. He's not sure if she's dead or alive. His friends and family are worried and they beg him to let go. But he can't, and one night, a text message comes from an unknown number with information about Marianne.</p><p>He goes. Of course, he goes.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Marianne von Edmund</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Whumptober 2020 [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1963459</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Vanishing of Marianne</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p><b>TW:</b> someone very crudely asks about the possibility of the suicide of a loved one in public, someone gets buried alive, someone gets transformed into a demonic beast, suicidal ideation </p><p>(I'm not really sure how to write trigger warnings, so if anyone else has pointers, that'd be appreciated!)</p><p>But seriously guys, take care of yourselves. Nothing "good" happens in this fic.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Mari-Marianne?” </p><p>He grabbed her forcefully and she shrieked. </p><p>The blue-haired woman, the one he’d grabbed a hold of, turned around and moved back, eyes full of apprehension. </p><p>Brown eyes. </p><p>Marianne’s eyes were… had been… no, he couldn’t… Her eyes were the blue of the robin’s eggs that she watched over with a faint smile, murmuring prayers and always speaking to them as though she could understand them. She loved those birds. She loved him and he loved her. </p><p>Eyes trained on him, the blue-haired woman reached around her purse blindly for something – a taser or pepper spray he’d guess. </p><p>Backing away from her, Dimitri bowed his head and started to speak. “Madam, I’m sorry for any distress I’ve caused you. I mean you no harm.” </p><p>The woman scowled at him. </p><p>He should’ve just cut his losses then and there and went on his way, but his mouth moved before his head could think. </p><p>“This is no excuse but… from the back, you looked like my wife. She went missing years ago. She loved to go hiking here… And this trail is near where her father is buried.” He forced lungfuls of airs inside of himself as tears formed at the corners of his eyes – even the ruined one, the one that Marianne made sure to kiss tenderly as they laid in bed together.  </p><p>The woman’s expression softened and she handed him a tissue. Her name was Adelaide and she wanted to sit him down and let him talk things out. Maybe it was her maternal instincts, she said. They did end up talking for a long whiles, until the sun began to set and she waved him goodbye with a warm hug and a firm warning to not stay out in the area out too late. </p><p>Recent sightings of Demonic Beasts, she said, and Dimitri laughed. </p><p>He would almost welcome it.</p>
<hr/><p>“Edie’s worried about you,” Dorothea murmured as she sat across from him at his dining table. She’d come over with the excuse of ‘oh, I was just in the neighborhood and thought I could drop over some homemade pies’ and this time was no exception. Dimitri knew that his friends and even some of his acquaintances had some sort of rotating schedule… to keep vigil over him. Make sure he wasn’t alone for too long. Locked up too much in his own head. </p><p>“Did she hear from Hubert that I have been going back to her father’s cemetery?” He set down his cup of coffee a bit too hard and left a mark in the wood.</p><p>“No, of course not. It’s just… you haven’t moved on. Maybe this is overstepping as your sister-in-law, but Dimitri… you need to let go. It’s been five years. Marianne… she, she’s gone.” </p><p>Dorothea, Ingrid, Sylvain, his therapist, his many many therapists, they all said he needed to accept the loss. A few even said that he should move on, because that’s what Marianne would’ve wanted. </p><p>What a joke! They both survived a three-pronged continental war only for her to disappear at a gas station only ten minutes from their house by car. </p><p>She had to be out there somewhere. If not alive, then her bones were still somewhere hidden from his gaze. Perhaps he was never worthy, but she deserved to be buried in her family cemetery next to her birth father. </p><p>She was alone somewhere, lost in the world. </p><p>“...maybe you could run for office again. Run your uncle out.” </p><p>“Marianne is the great orator, not me. She’s the one that went to school for that. I’ll just be another blue-blooded noble clogging up the airways.” </p><p>“Mixed metaphor aside, better you than your uncle! The other candidates for Fhirdiad stand no chance; they haven’t got the coin or the name recognition. And, isn’t it partially your fault that Fargheus is in the state that it’s in?” </p><p>Dimitri felt his hallowed out, sunken self shrink into himself as Dorothea tried to persuade him to rejoin upper society. Run for office. Pose for charity events. Settle into a position on the board of some company.</p><p>What was the point? </p><p>Before, he’d looked forward to the dawn of each new day because she’d be right there next to him. She said she would. Even if sometimes, she found it hard to get out of bed or take pleasure in being alive. Even if sometimes she didn’t want to be around, she tried. Refill the bird feeder and water the plants one day. Clean out the bathroom on another. Read a chapter for law school maybe. </p><p>Which was why he saw red when the news of Marianne’s disappearance got out and the first reporter, an oily spindly man, held up the microphone and asked –</p><p>“Do you believe your wife took her own life?”</p>
<hr/><p>He should’ve known, they said. But he did, didn’t he? They both lived on the precipice before the great fall. Sometimes, they could take a few steps away from it, keep their minds preoccupied with other things, but it was always there. Always there in the back of his mind, in his dreams and his hallucinations. And for Marianne, it was in a small, soft voice that told her that because of her crest, she was cursed. </p><p>“But how could you be cursed when you’ve brought me so much joy?” He had asked as he stared into her eyes, the words already sounding self-centered and disingenuous as they left his mouth. </p><p>When she was been little, her parents and she had gone on a late spring trip to the shores of a Leicester lake. The drive took them up through some mountain roads and, despite the weather report’s multiple reassurances that the weather would be sunny and bright that weekend, it snowed on the mountain roads that night. </p><p>And in the middle of the flurry of snow, their car became stuck in the snow. They hunkered down, hoping for the snow to stop. </p><p>It didn’t. </p><p>They ate their food bit by bit, burned the car’s tires for warmth. </p><p>The snow kept piling up. </p><p>Finally, little Marianne got a fever. An alarmingly high fever. </p><p>Neither of her parents were skilled in magic-craft, so they couldn’t heal her or relieve her of her symptoms. Fearing the worst, her father set out the next day with snow up to the top of the car and then some. </p><p>It was a clear sunny day. </p><p>He left, the snow’s descent erasing his presence within the hour. </p><p>The helicopters found them three days later. </p><p>Her father had vanished. </p><p>“So do you think that… somehow you made your father disappear?” </p><p>“I, it’s just, I know…” She trailed off and started again. “I know that if I hadn’t gotten that fever that my father would have stayed in the car. That’s all.”</p>
<hr/><p>His phone beeped later that night sometime around 9 pm. When he’d usually call it a night and stare at the ceiling for hours. </p><p>And then in the haziness of 2 am, a message came from an unknown number: I believe I can help. Meet me at my home. </p><p>An address was typed out somewhere in the fashionable parts of Fhirdiad. </p><p>Dimitri turned off his phone, breathed heavily, and stared at nothing.</p>
<hr/><p>The directions were for a handsome summer cottage with a quaint but ample garden in the back. The furniture and décor was tasteful and understated and while on the stony steps leading into the backyard, Dimitri noticed –</p><p>A series of large unnatural round prints on the earth. Each print was larger than Dimitri’s feet. </p><p>The host came up. He, an unassuming ordinary man, peered at him through his small round eyeglasses as a servant poured their tea. </p><p>“I believe you have information on my missing wife,” he said, straining to keep his voice even. What would hysteria do for him? This was a million-to-one shot anyways. </p><p>“I do,” the man said, sipping his tea serenely, one foot slung slightly over the other. </p><p>“Do you want money?” Perhaps his past self would’ve recoiled at the thought of bribery. “I can make it so that you’re provided for the rest of your life.” </p><p>The man chuckled politely, whipping the corner of his mouth with a handkerchief. “Look around you. Do you think I need money?” </p><p>“With all due respect, Duke Lemorne, I am not here to play games.” </p><p>“And neither am I.” </p><p>The man pulled out a silver brooch. “Do you recognize this?” </p><p>Dimitri grabbed at it, but due to his poor death perception, he missed. The brooch was unmistakable, a simple thing with a design that mixed the sigils of her birth and adoptive families. It was one-of-a-kind. </p><p>“Yes. I’ve seen it. Of course I’ve seen it. Where did you get this –“ He got up, the force of his movement causing his chair to wobble violently. “What did you do to my wife?” Before he knew what he was doing, he got so close to the duke’s face that he could the pores on his face. </p><p>He’d taken her from him. </p><p>“I am your only hope. Only I know where she is.” </p><p>He’d searched endlessly for her and she’d slipped through his hands like water. </p><p>He sighed, sat down, straightened his back. “What is it that you want me to do?” </p><p>The duke plunked down a glass of red wine in front of him. </p><p>“Drink.” </p><p>A series of thoughts flashed into his mind. What could possibly be in this wine? Poison? Drugs? And what was that enormous paw print from? Who was this man? Hubert had said that there were still another enemy still remaining, slithering beneath the earth… </p><p>But these thoughts were faint routines honed for the war that had gone and past. These thoughts hadn’t served to bring him closer to Marianne. </p><p>He tipped up the glass up to his mouth and sniffed, not that he would have been able to smell a thing. But something compelled him to set the glass down, causing the liquid to slush around. </p><p>“No… what am I doing.” He had his friends, his step-sister, a niece and nephew… </p><p>“But what is it that you want the most?” The duke asked, speaking as though he were sympathetic towards him. “Aren’t you tired?” </p><p>“I-” He shook his head. “What’s in this wine?” </p><p>“A surprise!” The duke said, waving his arms around like he were a magician showing off a spectacular trick. “Hm… How about this? All I will promise is that you will find out what happened to your dear wife.” </p><p>“And what if –” </p><p>“What if I’m lying?” He laughed. “By the looks of it, are you not already half-dead? So what difference does it make?” </p><p>Dimitri gulped it all down before the duke had finished his sentence. </p><p>Drowsiness swept over him.</p>
<hr/><p>Dimitri sneezed, his nose having been irritated by bits of dirt and wood dust. His elbows had a limited range of motion and his shoes were hitting the wall of some piece of furniture. The air was stale and it was utterly dark. And somewhere on top of his legs, something, heavy, spherical, bony pulsed with a weak heartbeat. </p><p>A small mote of fire sprang to life, illuminating a small passage…</p><p>A coffin. </p><p>He was in a coffin. And the thing on his legs was a crest stone but it looked impossibly ancient with a web of cracks. It was alive and pulsating and a thin trickle of black fluid leaked out onto his pants. </p><p>He smashed the left half of his body against the coffin but it stood firm. The coffin wasn’t wooden but made of some metal reinforced material judging by the way that it reverberated as he smashed against it. </p><p>“Hello? Hello?” A horrible screech rang throughout. </p><p>“Oh, my apologies, just checking the equipment,” the duke said, his voice coming from a small speaker just out of Dimitri’s reach. </p><p>Dimitri ignored him and yelled for him until his lungs threatened to give out and he couldn’t yell anymore, it was just wisps of sound coming out. </p><p>The air was short on oxygen by now, he was sure. He had trails of sweat all along his neck and underarms and everywhere else, his hair sticking close to his forehead – he’d almost never bothered to get a hair cut except when Sylvain and Felix bodily dragged him to a barbershop. His vision was swarming and he could swear he could see stars swirling at his feet and feel the swaying of a ship beneath his body. His throat itched uncomfortably and the black fluid had soaked all the way through the clothing on his lower body, but it didn’t feel cold. </p><p>“Are you done now?” Lemorne waited for some time for Dimitri to stay utterly quiet. “As you know, this is what happened to your wife. She was my prototype.” </p><p>Dimitri shut his eyes and tried to block the sound from his ears. He concentrated on pounding against the coffin. Maybe if someone noticed he’d gone missing… Surely, Hubert must’ve installed a tracking chip onto his person by now. Surely, Ingrid would notice that they’d missed their weekly scheduled phone call. Surely, if he yelled hard enough, someone would hear him. Please, someone. Anyone. </p><p>“The human body wants to survive. You, your mind, might not want to, but your body does. Normally, those who have crests can’t be turned to Demonic Beasts. But do you know why the crestless turn into Beasts in the first place?” </p><p>He ignored him and concentrated on the coffin walls. A small indent was forming. Good. His wretched strength was finally an asset. </p><p>“Within each crest stone is the will of a child of Sothis. And though they’re long dead, they want to live. And –” </p><p>“Shut up,” he said in the feeblest of voices. He’d never felt this way before. Even when he’d been a scavenger picking the countryside clean, he knew he could trust his body to keep going. He was seeing and hearing things now – the first part was new, at least, he supposed. </p><p>“Your death is approaching, is it not? But fear not, you will survive even if you do not want to.” </p><p>Was the duke going to fish him out of the underground at the last minute to torture him? Dastard, lower than roaches, lower than – </p><p>“That crest stone on your body, do you see it? Now, ordinarily, it cannot do a thing to you since you possess a crest stone of your own. But, you’re dying and it is losing its power by the minute. I’ve modified this crest stone here to be stronger, better. It’ll keep you alive even as you run out of oxygen.” </p><p>The flame snuffed out of existence. “You shall see Marianne very soon.” And the speaker grew silent. </p><p>The crest stone was now growing on his legs, reaching out slimy tendrils up his calves and sliding painlessly underneath his skin, creating an odd pressure. </p><p>He knew what had happened to Marianne at last. She had always hated her crest, the Crest of the Beast she’d called it. She’d done nothing to deserve this. </p><p>At least he was joining her now, Dimitri thought, as he opened his eyes and found a familiar waterfall of blue hair falling over his face. </p><p>He took in the air, the sweetness of bluebells found in meadows and odd roadsides. And blooming out of the cascade of hair was Marianne, smiling wanly.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Be me: oh look! (one) of my comfort FE3H ships! </p><p>Also me: separates them from one another &amp; then forces them to suffer a terrible fate. </p><p>(oh well this is mainly to get me writing again soooo. also lmao at Lemorne being just the most over-done mustache twirling villain who needs to explain his diabolical plans damn it he worked really on them, he needs to be appreciated!!! i should... probably actually watch the entire movie before i write this huh...)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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